


Pirates, Pets, Pathos, and Politicians

by Wind_Ryder



Series: Brother Mine [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Child Abuse (mentioned), Dog - Freeform, Gen, Jealousy, Job offers, Life Lessons, Mental Health Issues, Pets, Siblings, body guards, fight, puppy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-25
Updated: 2014-03-26
Packaged: 2018-01-16 22:33:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1364167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wind_Ryder/pseuds/Wind_Ryder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>William Sherlock Scott Holmes wants to be a pirate, but his older brother wants nothing to do with it. While Mycroft is at work, William is left alone to play by himself. One day, his brother's employer sees that he's lonely and buys him a pet.</p><p>Mycroft hates Red Beard with every fiber of his being. He thinks the dog's loud, obnoxious, and useless. </p><p>Everyone else just thinks he's jealous. </p><p>Except William, who doesn't quite understand why his brother won't talk to him anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pirates and Pets

**Author's Note:**

> This is a multi-chapter entry into the Brother Mine Series, with the first chapter following William rather than Mycroft. 
> 
> It isn't necessary to read earlier parts of this series, though it would make far more sense if you did. 
> 
> I don't have a beta reader, and it isn't brit picked. If there are any glaring errors please feel free to let me know and I will be happy to change them!

**Chapter:**

William was bored easily. Mycroft was always working. He interacted with the staff constantly and was always rushing about and seeing to the affairs of their home, and that left William to do nothing…for _hours_. He complained to Mycroft whenever his brother came about for Research Time, but Mycroft merely scoffed and tossed him another book to read.

 

The books were enjoyable at least. William read them cover-to-cover, and then reread them all for good measure. Mycroft refused to be impressed by his grasp on the material he was provided with, and William wondered if there was anything he could do to make his brother proud of him.

 

Likely not, he was too busy worrying about his employer: Thomas Kent.

 

“He’s one of the best things that could have happened to us.” Mycroft had told him, batting his hands away when William reached towards him in hopes of getting him to stay just an extra few minutes. Mycroft was always doing that. He never wanted to cuddle anymore, and had begun to sigh whenever William tried to go to him for a hug. “Be kind to him, Will.” Mycroft told him then, before leaving to return to work.

 

William didn’t even really know what Mycroft was _doing_ half the time. He watched him sometimes. It always looked silly: pushing things around the floor and rubbing at furniture. It seemed like nonsense. But apparently that nonsense was what allowed to stay there. Mycroft did the same thing every day, and they were able to live in Kent’s home. William wasn’t going to argue with Mycroft too much about that. He liked sleeping in a bed at least and the library as well. He loved spending time in the library, reading any number of Kent’s hundreds of books.

 

He was determined to read through every book in the library at some point, and settled in on the lowest shelf on the farthest left and began working his way about the library one row at a time. Still, library aside, William quickly found himself growing bored of the rest of the home. He wasn’t allowed to leave it, unless he was escorted by one of the adults, and that was bothersome.

 

When they lived in their parents’ house, he could run around outside all the time. Mycroft only complained about him climbing trees unsupervised. But now his brother said that it wasn’t safe to leave, and William was certain he was lying. It looked perfectly safe outside his window. There were thousands of people just on the other side of that glass, and if anything happened they were bound to notice. There weren’t even any good climbing trees he could fall out of.

 

He attempted to open the window once, only to find that it was sealed shut. “What’s the point of that?” He asked one of the other staff members. He knew Mycroft wouldn’t approve if he questioned him about it. The woman, Alice, frowned.

 

“It’s to keep people out, Will.”

 

“People don’t come inside through _windows_.” William informed her. Clearly, she was an idiot.

 

“They don’t leave through windows either, do they?” She asked, raising an eyebrow at him. He scowled and crossed his arms over his chest. Clearly, Mycroft blabbed about how they ran away. He still thought she was an idiot. He wasn’t impressed, and he’d need to discuss it with Mycroft later. She smiled at him patiently. “Would you like to help Rudy in the kitchen?”

 

“Okay.” He told her, and she smiled at him as she took his hand.

 

Rudy was a rather rotund woman who commanded her domain with a sharp eye and a fierce glare. She ruled it all with an iron fist, and William had even commented on the strength of her hands. She peered down her nose at William whenever he entered the room, but she was obviously fond of him.

 

Alice deposited William into her care and Rudy immediately told him to wash his hands. He hurried forwards and pulled over a stool so he could wash his hands more effectively. He liked the lessons that Rudy freely gave. The woman insisted that anyone who was going to spend any reasonable amount of time in the kitchen was going to learn how to do it properly. So he did it properly.

 

William suspected Mycroft told the staff that he wouldn’t eat anything he didn’t make himself, because Rudy never attempted him to feed him anything she made. Instead, she _insisted_ William do it himself. So everything was done in pairs. Whatever she worked on, he finished. It was _glorious._

 

As she worked Rudy spoke highly of the good Mr. Kent, and when she wasn’t talking about food she was talking about how wonderful he was. William suspected she was infatuated with him. When he asked her about it, she blushed red and told her to stir his roux. He figured that meant she was.

 

Though Mycroft seemed more distant than usual, William discovered that his brother was secretly pleased by the fact that he was eating on a regular schedule again. William was able to make his own food at the same time as Rudy, and so when Mycroft was ready to eat William was always able to eat with him. They sat down together and chatted about different things that came to mind, and it was one of the few times that they could actually enjoy their meals.

 

William was surprised to discover how much he missed eating with him. It was nice. They sat together at the main dining room table, and usually were undisturbed. On the rare occasions when Kent was home for dinner he’d sit with them as well.

 

At first William wasn’t sure what to say to him, but Kent proved to be quite adept at orchestrating a conversation. He quizzed William on the different ingredients used in their meal, and how their food was prepared. William had every recipe memorized and he was happy to oblige. He talked about it rapidly, quickly going over the most meaningless aspects of the cooking process. Sometimes he would catch Mycroft’s eye, and his brother would make a somewhat aborted motion for him to slow down. But Kent never seemed bothered. In fact, his perpetual state of exhaustion he was always in seemed to alleviate somewhat as they ate together. He listened to everything William said, and he nodded along. He asked questions here or there, but mostly he just let William twitter away on the countless different parts of a meaningless discussion.

 

“You don’t have to indulge him like that, you know.” Mycroft told Kent one evening, while William feigned sleep on the couch. Kent was reviewing some paperwork in front of the fire as Mycroft thumbed through the pages of a book.

 

“I ensure the deaths of countless people every night, hearing about what made my dinner isn’t an indulgence: it’s a luxury.” Mycroft didn’t reply right away, and William wondered what Kent meant about what his job really was. He tried to imagine it, and each idea was more fanciful than the last.

 

Over the next month, William imagined Kent as a pirate. He liked the idea of the somewhat elderly man riding the seas in his great ship. He acted like a captain, capable of commanding an army of scalawags as they roared across the ocean.  He told Kent of his suspicions over dinner one evening, and Mycroft choked on an olive in response. Kent laughed uproariously at the idea and ruffled William’s curls with obvious affection.

 

William couldn’t help but stare up at the man in amazement. No one else did that. No one else smiled and laughed, and talked to him like he was capable of holding a conversation. No one else tussled his hair and planned to conspire with him. He wondered if this was what family was supposed to feel like. He smiled at Mycroft, and his brother’s lips returned the expression.

 

“I think you’d make a great pirate, Kent.” Mycroft said, overcoming his shock in the face of their benefactor’s amusement.

 

“Oh do you?” The man settled his silverware on the table and leaned backwards in his chair. He thread his fingers together and the pleasant expression never left his face. “Captain Kent, hm? Doesn’t quite have the right ring to it, does it boys?”

 

“Captain Thomas?” Mycroft postulated.

 

“Did you know that Thomas Cavendish was the first man to intentionally circumnavigate the world?” William piped up. Mycroft blinked at the announcement, and Kent’s eyebrows rose.

 

“Did he now?”  The man asked, motioning for him to continue.

 

“He did! They called him the ‘Navigator’ and Queen Elizabeth the first knighted him when he got back to England. Are you knighted, Kent?”

 

“No, and I shouldn’t want to be.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because knights tend to let it get to their heads, and I’m quite arrogant enough without all that nonsense.” Kent told him with a grin. “Now, tell me more about this Navigator.” William did. He recited everything he knew about Thomas Cavendish. He spoke for hours, well after their plates had been cleared and they’d wandered into Kent’s study for their evening ritual of reading and relaxation. He spoke about Cavendish’s exploits until his eyes grew heavy and his voice went hoarse. Then, as he was struggled to stay awake and continue letting Kent know everything he knew, Mycroft gently lifted him up and carried him to bed. He was asleep before he could mount a suitable protest. It was the first time in a long while Mycroft held him like that. He missed it.

 

Kent wasn’t always there. He had many business trips that took him out of the country, and his home in Belgravia wasn’t his only stop. William missed him. He asked the staff about him, about when he’d come home, and where he was. They gave him vague responses, and William wished someone would just tell him the truth.

 

He stayed awake well into the night in hopes that Kent might come home and he could see him again. Mycroft was usually tired from the day and had started sleeping soundly before William nodded off. Not always, of course. There were times when Mycroft easily out lasted him. But there were days when William forced himself to stay awake, and Mycroft never stood a chance.

 

On those days, William occasionally _did_ find Kent coming home late. The man looked exhausted and defeated each time, and William hopped down the steps and met him at the door. “Welcome home.” He told the man each time, smiling shyly at him before offering him something to eat. Kent always looked startled that he was there, but it never lasted long.

 

“Sure, Will, why don’t you make me something?” Kent offered, and he slumped into a chair in the kitchen and watched as William dashed about to create him something special. He smiled patiently each time and indulged him well into the night. “Are you lonely, Will?” Kent asked him one evening as he speared a baby tomato with his fork.

 

“Lonely?”

 

“Yes. Your brother is busy now, not always at your beck and call. Do you miss him?”

 

“I wish he’d spend more time with me. He doesn’t talk to me as much anymore. And he doesn’t play. He says he’s too tired to play and that I should grow up.” William informed Kent dutifully. Kent nodded in understanding and settled his fork on his plate.

 

“Responsibility. Your brother’s attempting to teach you responsibility.”

 

“But I don’t have anything to be responsible _for_.” William pointed out with a frown.

 

“Would you like something to be responsible for?” Kent asked, arching a brow at him.

 

For several moments William wasn’t entirely sure what to say. He considered his options, and weighed the pros and cons evenly. “I want someone to play with, and someone who’ll be with me always. I want someone who doesn’t yell at me for running around the house, or get mad at me if I don’t take a bath. I want someone to eat with me when Mycroft’s busy and can’t, and to talk about pirates with – cause everyone else is tired of it.” Kent nodded, listening intently to William’s requests.

 

“It sounds like you want a friend.”

 

“I’ve never had a friend. Is that what friends do?”

 

“Yes, Will. That’s what friends do.” Kent told him quietly.

 

Five days later, everything changed.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Mycroft had been busy with the other staff members when Kent arrived with the Irish Setter puppy in his hands. He deposited the small creature into William’s arms and took a step back to watch the reaction. For a moment, William didn’t seem quite know what to do with the small creature. It squirmed uncomfortably in his grasp, back legs kicking slightly and head looking in all directions, but then William’s eyes widened with delight and he held the small dog to him in wonder.

 

“Mine?” He asked Kent carefully, hope dripping from his features. Kent smiled at him and nodded.

 

“Of course. You said you wanted a friend, and aside from kidnapping this was the best I could come up with. Every boy should have a dog. Now this little one is your responsibility. I expect you to feed, train, and walk him every day. If he makes a mess – you clean it up. _Not_ your brother. Do you understand?”

 

“Oh…oh!” William’s knees gave out and he wrapped his legs underneath him to squat on the ground. He unwound his arms from around the puppy and the creature popped its front paws up on his chest in order to properly sniff his face. It licked his chin a few times and William’s mind went to a thousand places in one.  He was _perfect_.

 

“Will…do you understand?”

 

“Yes! Yes, Captain Thomas!” William said, excitedly. He looked back up at Kent with such a wide grin that his brother’s employer almost looked truly pleased for once. Instead of the half smiles and manipulative glances he usually portrayed, Kent actually appeared relaxed and content for the first time since they moved in. William liked seeing him like that.

 

“He’ll need a name.” Kent told him. William looked down at the dog for a long while. He’d never named anything in his life. He didn’t know what would best suit the small creature. He didn’t want to misname him. It had to be perfect. “You think on it, I’ll go see to your brother and the staff.”

 

William hardly seemed to notice that he had even left, preferring instead to watch the puppy as he wandered from William’s lap and bounded across the room. It was awkward and uncoordinated, and William loved him entirely. He couldn’t wait for the puppy to meet Mycroft.

 

As it turned out, though, Mycroft didn’t come back upstairs for the rest of the night. He was still busy with whatever exercise he was doing with the rest of the employees. The puppy, still unnamed, had made several messes, and William had awkwardly attempted to clean them up with one of their spare bath towels. He had looked for one of the familiar staff members to explain what he was meant to do with him during those times, but no one was around. They were all in a meeting in the Library and when he tried to go in, the guards at the door refused to let him.

 

“Not now, little man.” They told him kindly.

 

“But I need to ask Mycroft a question.”

 

“Sorry, lad. Not now, he’s busy.”

 

“But it’s important. What do I do with the mess?” He held up the puppy as evidence, and the guards shared a look with each other.

 

“What mess?”

 

“Well, he didn’t ask for the loo and he made a mess. Captain Thomas told me I had to clean it up, and not Mycroft, but I don’t know how. How do I train him to use the loo?”

 

The guards attempted to hold back their amusement, which William thought was rather good of them, but neither succeeded very well. Instead, one pulled his radio out and called for assistance. A younger member of their team came in from outside and William was encouraged to ask him all he wanted about how to proceed. The young guard looked utterly put out by it all, glared at the two door guards, but then motioned for William to follow him.

 

“What’s your name?” William asked, hurrying after the man.

 

“Greg.” He replied with a sigh. “Now come along.” He opened the back door and moved to let the pair out. The outside garden had never been a place that William was allowed to be before, and he looked about the area with interest. “Your pup’s just a wee thing, so you’re going to have to be vigilant, ya? What your gonna do is stay around this area inside. When it starts to whine, you take it out here and let him do his business. Then you praise him for doing it outside. Get it?”

 

“He’s going outside?” William asked, scandalized at the thought. “Why doesn’t he use the loo?” To his credit, Greg didn’t even blink at the question.

 

“He’s too small now, and he’ll be too big later, see? He won’t have the dexterity for it.”  The answer was satisfying, and he thanked the guard for his time.

 

“Now, what about these messes, hm?”

 

William showed him how he’d dealt with the problem earlier, and the guard sighed and shook his head. “You’ll go through too much trouble like that. Here…” The whole process took no time at all, and William memorized where every product the guard produced came from. He even followed him down the washer to see how to clean the towels he’d dirtied earlier.

 

“Now, if you’ve any questions, you ask.” The guard told him sternly.

 

“Yes, sir.” He replied with a happy grin.

 

“Oh, and you know the rules about being outside, ya?”

 

“Rules?” William asked, shifting his hold on the puppy as it squirmed in his arms.

 

“Don’t let anyone in you don’t recognize, lock the door behind you _every time_ , and never leave the line of sight from the door at night. Understand?”

 

“Yes, sir.” Greg nodded and patted his shoulder.

 

“Enjoy your new pup, Will.”

 

“Thank you! Do you know any good names? Only, I’ve never named anything, and Captain Thomas says I have to come up with one.” Greg frowned at that, and gave him a considering look.

 

“Why do you call Mr. Kent: ‘Captain Thomas?’”

 

“Because he’s a pirate and pirates need proper titles.” William explained slowly, wondering mildly if Greg even understood what pirates were.

 

“You like pirates?”

 

“Oh they’re fantastic. I’m going to be a pirate one day! I’m going to get a ship and sail the seas with my brother. We’ll loot all the passing vessels, and everyone will fear us!”

 

“I’m sure you’ll be properly fearsome, you will.” Greg told him, grinning.

 

“I will be. I’ll be the most fearsome pirate in the world.”

 

“So who’ll you be then? Captain William? You’ll need a better name than that. Something that’ll shake fear into the hearts of your enemies.”

 

“I’ll have a nickname! I just don’t know what it’ll be. Beside, don’t other people think up nicknames _for_ you?”

 

“Suppose your right. What’s your full name then? Got a middle one in there somewhere, or is it just William Holmes?”

 

“No, it’s William Sherlock Scott Holmes. Least, that’s what mummy told me once.”

 

“‘Sherlock?’ Now there’s a name fit for piracy if I’ve ever heard one. Sounds just like your brother’s name. All old and mysterious.”

 

“You think? I don’t know; I don’t quite like it. It’s a misnomer. See?” He tugged at his dark curls for a moment. “My hair’s brown.”

 

“So I see, but pirates get named things that are all wrong all the time as a form of distraction. Anyway, this boy here’s got red hair, wouldn’t you say?” Greg crouched and got a good look at the puppy. William set it on the ground to wander about the hall at their feet, and it was currently attacking William’s shoelaces. The boy didn’t seem to notice or care, and Greg wasn’t about to correct the pup in any case. It really was an adorable creature, with a cute little button nose and finely waved fur. His ears flopped daintily around his little face, and Greg could see the appeal to having the creature as a playmate. “That’s pretty fair wouldn’t you think? ‘Sherlock’ a good name for your pup?” William considered it for a moment, and then shook his head.

 

“No, you’re right about the distraction. It might come in handy one day and I wouldn’t want to waste an opportunity. Regardless- _Oh!”_ William’s eyes widened and his hands flapped excitedly in front of his chest. He bounced on his toes as his mind leaped across possibilities. His pup backed away and watched him with interest as William physically portrayed his delight. “Bluebeard!” He shouted with glee. Plopping onto the floor he crouched down to scoop up his puppy’s small front paws in his hands. “What do you think, hm? No? Something better…something just for you… _Red Beard_. My first and most fearsome mate. You’ll be the talk of the high seas!” The pup barked happily, and Greg laughed in response.

 

“Sounds like you’ve got a keeper there.”

 

“Yes. Yes I do. You’ll see Greg, you’ll see: Sherlock and Red Beard – that’s what we’ll be called.”

 

“Thought you didn’t like the misnomer? That’s an awful quick change of heart.”

 

“I have years to grow into it! I’m not a pirate yet. But Red Beard only goes by one name, and so he’ll have to start early.” William explained.

 

“Well if you ever do become a pirate, I suppose it’d be foolish not to join sides. I’ll have to come up for a name for myself too, if I’m to join your ship.”

 

“Would you? Would you join my ship? You’re the first who’s offered. Everyone else says it’s a foolish thought and that I’m being an idiot.”

 

“Who’s everyone else?”

 

“Mycroft.” William admitted shyly.

 

“Well that’s your brother’s job, to keep you out of trouble. But you’re a fearsome little tyke aren’t you? You’ll find trouble even if he tries to keep you out of it. I can see it in your eye.” He nudged William’s cheek affectionately. “Anyway, I’ll leave my title and new name for you to decide, ya? I’d best be going back to work. Don’t you forget the rules about the door, ya? I won’t be hearing of any wrong doings just yet. Until you start going by Sherlock, you follow the laws of the land.”

 

“Yes, sir.” William said with a smile. Then, with more sincerity he continued. “Thank you, Greg. For everything.”

 

“Not a problem, little pirate-in-training. Not a problem.”  He ruffled William’s curls, and then hurried back to his post.

 

“Come on Red Beard,” William said looking down to his First Mate, “let’s go on an adventure!”

 


	2. Pathos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft hates Red Beard, and he lets his jealousy get in the way of his and his brother's relationship. 
> 
> They have their first real fight, and Mycroft realizes that he has a lot to learn about life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I upped the rating and added a few extra tags for the next chapter, which is now finished and will be posted soon.

**Chapter:**

 

Mycroft _hated_ Red Beard.

 

He finished his training seminar with the staff to find the puppy curled up on William’s bed looking like it had been there for years. Velveteen with curly haired ears, it could have been considered cute. Except all Mycroft saw when he looked at it was trouble.

 

“Oh! Mycroft, isn’t he amazing? Captain Thomas gave him to me!” William as full of endless energy as he scooped up the puppy and presented it to Mycroft with a smile.

 

“Mr. Kent. Mr. _Kent_ gave you a dog?” Mycroft clarified. He couldn’t believe his eyes, nor his ears.

 

“Yes! He said that it was to help teach me responsibility. He’s my friend! His name is Red Beard.”

 

“ _Red Beard_?”

 

“Yes, isn’t it fitting? Greg helped me name him. Did you know my middle name is ‘Sherlock?’” Mycroft’s mouth opened at that, but he closed it immediately when William kept talking. “I thought about naming him that, but I decided to hold off until I become a pirate. Then I’ll go by Sherlock as my pseudonym.”

 

Mycroft felt a headache coming on. “Your pseudonym?”

 

“Yes! ‘Cause William’s my real name, so when I’m a pirate I need a pseudonym so I don’t get caught by the coppers.”

 

“There aren’t coppers on the ocean, Will. It’s the navy.”

 

“Them too!” William announced. “Sherlock’s a misnomer, see.” He pulled on one of his curls. “They’re dark.”

 

“They didn’t used to be.” Mycroft murmured absently, eyeing his curls for a moment in contemplation.

 

“Really?” William’s eyes widened in surprise. He hadn’t known that. Mycroft nodded.

 

“You were blonde when you were born. A rather bright shade too: almost platinum. You took after mummy.”

 

“Why’d it go dark?”

 

“Genetic mutation after birth. It happens. Your body produces pheomelanin in order to give you blonde hair. When you get older it can’t produce it as much, and so it switches to eumelanin for brown hair. You have dark hair now because you stopped producing pheomelanin. That’s all.”

 

“So it didn’t used to be a misnomer?”

 

“No, it used to be quite accurate.” Mycroft told him softly.

 

“Huh. Well that’s good then. Anyway, I decided to name him Red Beard, like Bluebeard, except you know – he’s _red_. It’s like my hair too anyway, right? Sherlock and Red Beard, pirates!”

 

“Yes. I can see that.”

 

He could also see the most obvious part about this whole problem: William adored his pet.

 

Mycroft was fairly certain he _loathed_ it.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

The Irish Setter puppy was full of love and energy and William ran around the house with him from day one. He laughed and cooed with delight and the house was filled with the sounds of barking and play from dawn until dusk. William researched dogs and how to train them for hours each day, and Mycroft was mystified when he tried to turn William back to their standard lessons and William blatantly refused to listen.

 

He taught Red Beard how to sit, stay, roll over, bark on command, play dead, find toys, find people, find clothes, find _anything_ , sound the alarm, and bare teeth.

 

Red Beard taught William how to clean up messes, how to navigate through small areas, how to take charge, and how to stand on his own without his brother.

 

“You can’t just give him a dog!” Mycroft exclaimed as soon as he had a spare minute alone with Kent.

 

“It’s my house, and frankly I don’t mind.” Kent told him with a shrug. “It’s not like he’s paying for it. I’ve set aside instructions for the staff to collect food for Red Beard while they shop.”

 

“Red Beard, what a childish name.”

 

“It’s a pirate.” Kent explained needlessly. “Your brother likes pirates.”

 

“Don’t tell me what my brother likes. I know full well what he likes!” Mycroft snapped at him. The man arched an eyebrow at him. “He named it after himself too.”

 

“Ah, ‘Sherlock’ wasn’t it?”

 

“Like you don’t have it memorized.” Mycroft muttered petulantly.

 

“Of course. I know the whole story.” Kent told him with a laugh. “I’d think you’d be pleased?”

 

“No. I’m no pleased.”

 

“What a shame.” Kent returned to his paperwork, and Mycroft returned to his duties. He should have known better than to complain to Kent. The man bought the dog because he thought it would teach William a lesson. Perhaps it wasn’t just William that was being educated.

 

William was spoiled. Mycroft wasn’t sure when that happened, but he realized very quickly that William was the apple of everyone’s eye, and that they spoiled him rotten. They let him get away with murder, and Red Beard took after William like they were genetically linked. He had the same expression on his face, all the time.

 

If William was being a little devil, Red Beard looked wily. If William was shamming innocence, Red Beard looked like an angel. If William was being friendly, Red Beard was too. The dog was a canine carbon copy of William, and Mycroft couldn’t imagine hating something more. He wasn’t sure what that aid about him, or his attitude towards his brother, but he couldn’t ignore the feelings as they grew within him.

 

“You’re jealous.” Kent told him simply.

 

“I’m not jealous.”

 

“Your brother used to pine for you when you were gone, used to mope about the house because you weren’t paying attention to him. Now he’s got a companion and he hardly notices it when you’re working. You’re jealous. You miss being the most important thing in his life.”

 

“Is this a lesson you’re trying to prove?” Mycroft hissed, clenching his fists and glaring at Kent hatefully.

 

“No lesson at all. Every boy should have a dog.” Kent paused and considered something for a moment. “Or a little brother.” He added on as an after thought. Then, seeming satisfied, he returned to his paperwork with a smile that Mycroft knew was more amused then it had any right to be. He huffed loudly, and just to be contrary: Kent gave him a magnanimous smile. “Would you like a dog too?”

 

“No.” Mycroft hissed, and walked away with as much dignity as he possessed. Kent laughed uproariously behind him.

 

William let Red Beard do everything with him. He read books to the puppy, he slept in the same bed as the puppy, and he took the puppy shopping with him when he went out with Cook or Alice. He had attempted to teach Red Beard how to use the toilet, but Mycroft caught him at that and immediately set him to straights. “You complete idiot! He’s a dog, not a person. He does his business outside!”

 

“It’s raining out, Red Beard doesn’t like the rain.” William complained, and Mycroft scowled at the pair of them. The Irish Setter was looking up at him with a pleading expression, as though to convey his sincere distaste for the weather outside.

 

“Red Beard is a dog and has no feelings one way or the other about the rain. _You_ just don’t want to go out in it.”

 

“Red Beard likes what I like, and doesn’t like what I don’t like. He doesn’t want to go out in the rain.” William said tightly.

 

“Give him here, Will.” Mycroft held out his hand for the puppy’s leash.

 

“No.”

 

“ _William_ give him here.”

 

“No. I’m going to take him for a walk with Greg, if _you_ won’t let me finish his training. Don’t worry. I’ll bring an umbrella.” He clicked his tongue for Red Beard to listen to, and then the pair marched off.

 

Mycroft was vaguely certain that he hated Greg too.

 

Somewhere down the line, the youngest member of Kent’s personal guard had been assigned to William as _his_ personal guard. Kent said it was a simple enough assignment, and he’d thought Mycroft would appreciate it. There was someone there keeping William safe whenever he needed to go out with Red Beard and ensure he was well taken care of.

 

Instead of throwing a fit about having someone else with him: William seemed to truly like Greg. He thought the man was a great deal of fun. Soon all he talked about was Greg, or Captain Thomas, or Red Beard, never anything worthwhile or interesting. “Come, it’s time for Research-”

 

“Oh that’s _boring_ Mycroft. I’m sick of reading about things. I want to see it all for myself.” William complained.

 

“Well you can’t, so there’s no point in fussing about that now.”

 

“I’m not fussing. I’m doing… _fieldwork_.”

 

“Where on earth did you hear that phrase from?”

 

“Greg. He says that he couldn’t imagine a desk job, that he likes fieldwork too much. You’d like a desk job, wouldn’t you? You seem the type. You never even climbed a tree with me.” William accused suspiciously.

 

“Climbing trees is dangerous.”

 

“Your dangerous.” William retorted.

 

“That hardly even makes sense-”

 

“Red Beard and I are going to be writing a play soon. Would you like to join us?”

 

“A _play_? Why would you want to want to write a play?”

 

“Because I want to. Come on Red Beard, Mycroft’s being _boring_ again.” Mycroft wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say to say about that. He wasn’t sure William even knew what he was saying either.

 

It hurt.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Mycroft distracted himself from William and Red Beard constantly. He avoided his brother whenever he had the chance, disliking even the sight of the dog at his brother’s side. He left William to Research in his own time, and he didn’t bother to try to arrange his schedule so that he could spend his free time with him.

 

Shamefully, he realized that he was pushing William away just as much as William had put placed a barrier between them. There were times, more often than not, that William _would_ seek him out and attempt to share with him all the things he’d done during the day. Mycroft simply couldn’t be bothered with any of it. He didn’t want to listen about the people that William was spending time with. He didn’t want to hear about the new tricks Red Beard knew. He just wanted William to…well…wait for him, be fascinated by him, and want to only spend his time with him.

 

Kent was right. He was jealous of William. He was jealous of the fact that his brother had people in his life when he didn’t. He was jealous that William _didn’t_ need him around at every moment of the day, and that other people were capable of making him smile and be at ease.

 

It wasn’t the dog’s fault, and it wasn’t even Kent’s fault. It was bound to happen at some point. William was always going to grow up and be his own person. It just felt like it was too soon, and that he hadn’t even had a say about it.

 

“Empty Nest Syndrome.” Kent told him seriously one night when Mycroft was busy polishing an ornament for the second time in an hour. William had quietly asked Mycroft if he wanted to see how the play was coming out, and Mycroft had snapped that he was busy. William hadn’t come back down to see him for the rest of the night, and Kent had seen the whole thing.

 

“What?” Mycroft asked, not bothering to look at the man.

 

“Empty Nest Syndrome. It’s when a parent realizes his young is going to leave and there’s no way to stop it. It either makes him force the young to stay at his side, or kick the young out harder than is necessary in order to lessen the sting.”

 

“I’m not a parent.”

 

“Of course not.” Kent agreed good-naturedly. He returned his attention to his paperwork and flipped through it with general ease.

 

“What are you working on?” Mycroft asked. He wasn’t sure why he asked to begin with, but the thought of going back upstairs and seeing William with Red Beard and Greg was a bit too much. It didn’t feel right, and he wanted to put it off for as long as possible.

 

“Searching for terrorists. The usual.” Kent replied, making a note on a pad of paper with his left hand. Mycroft shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other, unsure of how to proceed. “Come, you can help.” Kent offered.

 

So he did.

 

For the first time in his life: it felt _right_. At least his projects didn’t complain that he was too boring for them.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Kent didn’t let him do everything at first. In fact, there were severe limitations to the amount of information Mycroft was allowed access to. Kent watched him go through the data every step of the way, and none of that mattered because the patterns were delicious, the codes were intense, and the rest of the world faded away into a low hum of background noise that was meaningless in comparison to the work.

 

Mycroft lost hours of his time. He read through thousands of papers and articles and he found each loose trail and ran with it. He deciphered the information placed before him and reported it to Kent, and within days Kent would tell him the results.

 

“You just saved twenty people.”

 

“You just found a lost diplomat.”

 

“You just stopped a terrorist.”

 

“You just saved Britain twenty million pounds.”

 

The list went on.

 

The achievements were breathtaking. Mycroft found himself leaping in for more. He wanted to know everything. He wanted to reach his hand into the filth and find the pieces of the world that were worth saving and just _do_ it. It was power in its purest form. There was nothing less invigorating than this.

 

He could see the world stretched out before him, see the choices and that past of each person on the page and he could see where they would go. He could control them simply by knowing all there was to know about them. He could make them dance.

 

He was right: it was manipulation exactly like Sherrinford used to do, but it was so much more than that. It was so much better. It wasn’t dark and terrifying, it wasn’t because he could make people dance. It was because he could make them dance, and have them _shine_ while he did so. The world was at his fingertips, and nothing could hold him back.

 

Mycroft lost hours of the day. He lost days of the week. He fell into his work and he loved every moment of it. Kent brought him with him to his office and he met the men and women who made up Kent’s team. They barely bat an eye at him and he was introduced to a world filled of people who could actually manage to hold a conversation.

 

He was better than all of them, they were all still so much _less than_ , but none of that mattered because they were there as support and he could work with that. He could work with that, indeed. Mycroft threw himself into Kent’s work, and he wondered vaguely why he ever turned away from it to begin with.

 

He was saving lives. He was helping people. He was doing everything he should have done to begin with. It felt so right, so perfect, and so welcoming that he never wanted to do anything else.

 

For the first time in his life he didn’t have to worry about such trivial details. He didn’t need to _care_ if William got dressed, took a bath, made himself something to eat. He didn’t need to fuss over whether William brushed his teeth or his hair, made his bed, did his Research. He didn’t need to tell William to mind his manners, or any of the million other things he was constantly worried about.

 

He had the world at his fingertips, and William could be someone else’s responsibility. William was nearing eight years old, so he didn’t _need_ Mycroft anymore. It was better this way.

 

Beside, he had his stupid dog to spend time with, what would he need Mycroft for?

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Mycroft was so busy with his new found interests that he only realized that he hadn’t truly spoken to William until nearly a month later. He was obviously aware of the boy. He saw him each night when he flopped onto his mattress to sleep. But he was too tired to talk to him, and far too focused on other matters to really take in whatever William had to say when they _did_ talk.

 

Red Beard had gotten bigger. He was now just erring on the side of too large to carry, but was slept through the night now curled up in William’s arms. The dog always popped his head up to watch Mycroft whenever he walked in the room if William was asleep, and Mycroft was at least glad that the dog was doing its job in protecting his little brother.

 

William stayed up for him one night, though. He stayed up well into the night, and when Mycroft entered the room at half past three, William was curled up by the headboard with his arms around Red Beard’s body.  “What are you still doing up?” Mycroft asked him, tugging off his shirt and reaching for his nightwear.

 

“My play’s tomorrow.” William murmured wearily. “Will you be there?”

 

“I’m busy, Will. Probably won’t have the chance.” Mycroft told him honestly. He kept his back to his brother, determined to not see the disappointment on his brother’s face. He knew he was likely going to cave in if he saw it.

 

“Alice and Rudy said they’d come…and Greg too.” William moved behind him, and Mycroft could hear the boy slipping off his bed and reaching for something in his desk drawer. He pulled it out and Mycroft listened to the sound of his brother’s feet padding across the floor towards him. Red Beard hopped off the bed and joined him, tiny claws tick-tick-ticking across the ground as he moved.

 

“They don’t work as hard as I do, Will.” Mycroft told him softly.

 

“Will you read it? If you can’t see it?” William’s hand reached out and took hold of his arm. He turned and looked at the collection of paper that was held together by feeble string in William’s hand.

 

“If I have time to do so.” He agreed evenly. “Now go to bed.” William’s lips pressed together and tugged downwards in a dissatisfied frown.

 

“You never do anything with me anymore. Did I do something wrong?”

 

“Not a thing. Now go to bed, Will. You’re tired.”

 

“No I’m not!” William threw the playbook onto the ground and Red Beard barked as he looked between the two brothers in alarm.

 

“You’re such a child, don’t you realize some people have more important things to do than listen to you whinge?”

 

“I’m not whinging!”

 

“Yes you are, you really are. Now go to bed.” Mycroft reached for his brother’s arm and gave him a sharp push towards the mattress, but William batted it off and shoved him in return.

 

“You never talk to me anymore. Why don’t you talk to me anymore? You’re supposed to be my parent-”

 

“I’m not your parent, I’m your brother! And half the time I don’t even want to be that!” William drew back as though he’d been slapped, and Mycroft couldn’t be bothered to apologize. “Don’t you realize what’s happening around you? Or are you so selfish and self centered that you’ve no idea what goes on in the world?”

 

“I don’t-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

“Your _play_ is completely meaningless. Talking to you is completely meaningless. There are more important things out there, and maybe you should grow up and realize what they are. I’ve done absolutely everything for you, just to keep you safe, and you keep on taking. Well I’ve found something I’m good at, that I enjoy doing, that actually means something, and I’m sick and tired of having to cater to your idiotic and childish pursuits. Just _shut up_ for once in your life and _leave me alone!_ ” Red Beard was barking loudly now, standing between them and yowling in displeasure. Mycroft looked down on it and had half a notion to just kick it out of the way.

 

William must have seen the thought cross his mind, because a moment later his little brother pulled back a fist and caught him right in the lip. Mycroft stumbled backwards and tripped over the clothes he’d just taken off. His feet tangled and he dropped to the ground with a yelp. Red Beard kept on barking and whining louder and louder, and William continued to hit him in anger. He was screaming about something, but Mycroft didn’t care what it was.

 

He shoved his arms forwards, snatched his brother by the shirt front and threw his hand out. The blow was fantastic. Perfectly executed and with just the right amount of strength. Had it been to anyone else, Mycroft might have even been proud of it.

 

As it was, William’s head snapped to the side and all the fight drained from his body in a sharp instant. Red Beard’s puppy teeth clasped tight around Mycroft’s forearm less then a second later, and the door to their room was thrown open not a few moments after that. Greg yanked William away from Mycroft and ordered Red Beard off Mycroft’s arm with a sharp worded command.

 

“What the hell’s the matter with you two?” Greg shouted, looking between the pair of them with a furious glare.

 

“Nothing, Greg. A misunderstanding between bro- _us,_ is all _._ I’m going to bed. No need for you to have intervened.” William told the man frankly. He jerked his arm free and pulled Red Beard up into his arms. The puppy was just a touch too big for that, but didn’t complain too much even as his back feet hung down. William crawled under his blankets and tugged them over puppy and boy in one sharp movement.

 

Greg watched him go without a word, and soon tuned to glare down at Mycroft. “A word? _Sir?”_ He requested, not giving the teenager a chance to respond before he dragged him out of the room. He didn’t stop guiding Mycroft until they were in the nearest bathroom. Then he pushed Mycroft to sit on the closed toilet lid and ordered him to sit still. He left Mycroft alone for only a few minutes, walking back in with a first aid kit not too long after that. “I’ve never seen two brothers get along as well as you and William. You two _never_ fight.”

 

“This was our first.” Mycroft admitted, looking down at the bite marks on his arm. Red Beard barely caused any damage, but he had broken skin and the flesh was sore and puffy around the puncture wounds.

 

“You call him an ‘idiot’ almost every time you see him, did you realize that?”

 

“He is an idiot.”

 

“ _You’re_ an idiot, Mycroft Holmes.” Greg snapped, and the teenager jumped in shock. “You’re playing at being a powerhouse like Kent, but you’re still just a child. A pathetic child who squabbles with his brother.”

 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

“Don’t I? You’re intelligent, sure, you see things and understand concepts I probably never will.” Greg conceded before thrusting one thumb over his shoulder towards his room. “But you’ll never be considered mature or brilliant if you let an eight year old rile you up so much that you strike him across the face.”

 

“He hit me first!” Mycroft defended.

 

“He’s _eight!”_

“Seven, for God’s sake, he’s only seven.”

 

“He turned eight last week. You weren’t home.”

 

“No he didn’t. His birthday is January-” Mycroft cut himself off. His hands shook at his sides as his mind screeched to a halt. “Sixth. Today’s the tenth. Today’s January tenth.”

 

“Yeah. You missed his birthday.”

 

“I…he-” Mycroft wasn’t sure he knew what he was trying to say or what he was supposed to do. He floundered for words and came up shy. He struggled to remember what happened four days ago. There had been a political kidnapping. He was helping Kent find the diplomat. He’d been so wrapped up he hadn’t even thought of the date. And before that there’d been a bomb threat in…and before that…and before that…Events had blurred together and he hadn’t even kept track of the date.

 

“He didn’t care. He knew you were busy. He didn’t say a word. He just said you’d get to it when you could. Stiff upper lip, ya? Well guess what, all that kid’s talked about for weeks is this play of his. That’s all he’s wanted from you. And you know, maybe it is immature and childish. But you have a choice to make, Mycroft. Are you going to be that kid’s brother and actually deal with the fact that he’s a _child_ who does childish things every so often, or are you not? Because from what I see of you, you don’t have the maturity or the constitution to handle the work Kent’s letting you do. And I’m going to tell him that.”

 

“You can’t! That’s not fair-”

 

“And you’re proving my point all over about how spectacularly immature you still are.”

 

Mycroft grit his teeth in anger and his fingers clenched tight. “I’m good at my job.”

 

“You will be one day. Right now you’re too young. It’s too much responsibility for you. It’s not your place.”

 

“It was just a stupid fight.”

 

“And kids having stupid fights shouldn’t be making decisions in life or death situations.” Greg told him. “Think on that the next time you let an eight year old piss you off.” He dropped Mycroft’s arm and left him to his thoughts.

 

Mycroft wished he could say he hated Greg then, but when it came down to it:

 

Mycroft was pretty sure he just hated himself.

 


	3. Politicians

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft tries to be something he's not, and in the end: he knows exactly what he wants in life. He just wishes that the path to get there was easier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So marks the end of this story. The next one is finished and just needs some revisions. There are three updates left until the end of this arc. 
> 
> Please leave a comment and let me know what you think. 
> 
> All mistakes are mine, and if you see any- feel free to point them out. I'll change them ASAP.

Kent didn’t allow Mycroft back on any cases until the bruises had long since faded from William’s skin. Mycroft didn’t even fight him on that. He stayed in the house, scrubbing the floors and dusting the lamps, not bothering to argue or fight against any directive that was deemed appropriate.

 

Red Beard watched Mycroft with deep suspicion, clearly not prepared to forgive him for striking his little brother. Mycroft didn’t blame him, since he hadn’t quite forgiven himself. He tried to talk to William about their fight on several occasions, but William refused to listen. He never made eye contact with him, never acknowledged his presence, and never gave him the time of day. If Mycroft walked into the room, he and Red Beard left it. He’d even tried to barter for a new room of his own from Kent. Kent hadn’t allowed it, telling William to work out his problems with Mycroft on his own. It was one of the few things Mycroft was grateful for during this whole fiasco.

 

He spent his spare time looking at the play that William had written, leafing through the pages over and over again. For all that Mycroft insisted that William wasn’t bright and didn’t pay attention to his surroundings, the play surprised him. It incorporated aspects of all the missions and assignments that he had been working on with Kent. Kidnappings, assassination plots, destruction and terror all took center stage as the fierce pirate, Sherlock, and his trusty first mate, Red Beard, saved the day.

 

William _had_ been paying attention. He’d been trying to make sense of the whispered tones and hushed voices that were echoed through the halls of their new home, from staff and residents alike. He’d likely been told to ignore it all time and again, and when he couldn’t ignore it anymore: he wrote it down and made a story out of it. He didn’t realize how accurate he’d been, how close to the truth he was in all aspects of his reasoning.

 

He was eight years old, and Mycroft realized quite suddenly just how much he’d allowed him to be exposed to. William wasn’t quite the moron that he’d cast him to be. In fact, he was something quite spectacular (if just a bit dramatic).

 

Mycroft hovered around his brother, uncertain and awkward. He watched William play with his dog and cook his meals, and he longed for the days when everything was so simple and he knew exactly what to say to make William laugh. He’d never had a problem making William smile before. He always knew what to do and what to say.

 

At night, when his brother was curled up under his blankets, Mycroft watched him in misery. He had nothing to say, and truly couldn’t comprehend what would make any of this better. He longed to reach out and shake his brother awake, tell him that everything was going to be fine and that he was so very sorry.

 

He never did.

 

Kent still refused to let him continue working.

 

“If you’re too scared to talk to a child, and too immature to deal with one petty fight, then how can I trust you to handle more complex decisions?” Kent asked him.

 

Mycroft didn’t complain.

 

He wondered if the work was even worth it. Prior to Red Beard coming along he hadn’t thought so. He hadn’t wanted to put William in that kind of danger, and even the added bonus of keeping William safe from Sherrinford had been outweighed by the thought that Sherrinford wouldn’t be able to find them anyway if they never went home.

 

William could grow up far away from Sherrinford and there would be no outside interference with the world. He would be safe and whole, and want for nothing. That’s all Mycroft wanted for him. That’s all he ever wanted. With a heavy heart, he pushed all thoughts of government far from his mind. It wasn’t a life that was worth pursuing anymore. It wasn’t worth it. William was his priority, and that was that.

 

That night, he waited in his room for William to come in, and when he finally had William in a position to listen, he spoke and didn’t stop.

 

“It wasn’t just a job cleaning floors.” Mycroft said, even as William pulled his covers over his head and made every effort to show that he wasn’t listening. He wasn’t deaf, though, and Mycroft knew his brother would be forced to hear him so long as he kept speaking. “It started that way, but it wasn’t. Not for long. Kent works in the government, and I was interested. He showed me some of the things he did. I became distracted.” Mycroft took a deep breath and struggled to find an analogy that worked. “It was like…like being offered a chance to be a pirate. If he really was a Captain on the high seas, and he really did offer me the chance to go sailing – that’s what it was like. Do you understand?” William didn’t say anything, and Mycroft pressed forwards. “And after a while, I just stopped thinking about things that were on land…things like my little brother that I was supposed to be thinking about at all times. My priorities changed, and it was wrong and _Will_ – I’m so sorry. When I finally looked back to see what I’d missed, I didn’t think I’d see so much. I’m sorry Will. I shouldn’t have left you behind. I shouldn’t have hit you. I’m not much better than Sherrinford…am I?”

 

For a moment, Mycroft was certain that William wouldn’t respond, that he’d keep feigning sleep and their silence would continue forever. But against all odds, the blankets shifted. William popped his head up and looked at him with great big eyes and a trembling lip. “Did you like being a pirate?” William asked quietly, and Mycroft nodded.

 

“I did.” He took a few steps closer to his brother. Red Beard immediately began growling at William’s side, and he hesitated. William gave a sharp command for his dog to calm down, and the growling stopped immediately. Meeting William’s eyes, Mycroft took a deep breath. “I like being your brother more. Can we continue where we once were?”

 

Tears filled William’s eyes and he pushed himself up and out of bed. He threw himself into Mycroft’s arms and Mycroft wrapped him up in a great hug. William was practically in hysterics he was sobbing so hard, and Red Beard whined uncertainly at his side. “I’m sorry I hit you too.” William cried, shaking his brow against Mycroft’s chest. “It wasn’t right. I’m sorry.”

 

“I missed your birthday. I missed your play. I have a lot more to be sorry for.”

 

“But…you got to be a _pirate_.” William offered, looking up at him with an interested expression. “What was it like?”

 

“I wasn’t _really_ a pirate, Will.”

 

“I know, but you were like a pirate. So what was it like? What’d you do?”

 

“It was…well…it was a lot like your play actually.” Mycroft murmured, and he sat down and told William _everything_.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Mycroft started looking for other jobs. William had been fascinated by the stories he told him, and he’d longed to hear more, but Mycroft knew temptation when he saw it. He knew what lay down that path, and he wanted nothing to do with it. Not right now. Not like this. He didn’t tell William about it, though he was certain Kent knew.

 

There were hundreds of jobs out there; he just needed to look for one that met his criteria. Now that he and his little brother weren’t homeless he had more opportunity to look for options. It was only going to be a matter of time. He knew it.

 

He liked to think that he was being discrete. Whenever a newspaper came into the residence, he took it and read it from cover to cover. If he took a little more time to go over the job listings, then he doubted anyone would _really_ notice. He memorized all the important information and he took pride in the fact that he was capable of recalling each detail that passed before his eyes.

 

Things were made infinitely more complicated by the fact that William had a dog now. He knew there was no way that William would be separated from Red Beard, and as time passed he even started to find use in the creature. It was a faithful companion to William, always looking out for him and keeping a weathered eye on his constant shenanigans. While Red Beard was almost certainly a willing partner in all acts of folly William engaged in, he was also there to ensure William didn’t get into _too_ much trouble. On more than one occasion Red Beard sounded off the alarm and called attention to a particularly dangerous escapade about to go wrong. It made everyone’s jobs far easier.

 

Mycroft and Red Beard had come to an uneasy alliance in that both had agreed to not interfere with the other so long as William continued to be their priority. Red Beard barely tolerated Mycroft’s presence, going as far as to growl at him if he got too close. Still, without the dozens of eyes from the staff that ensured that William wasn’t getting himself into trouble, the only one who would be watching the young boy while he was at work would _be_ Red Beard. He’d never admit it, but Mycroft had a long talk with the Irish Setter while William was doing something with Rudy that _under no circumstances were dogs allowed to be a part of_. (Needless to say, William complained loudly about it and was subsequently over ruled).

 

“You need to look after him. Do you understand?” Mycroft asked Red Beard. The dog gave him an annoyed expression and Mycroft scowled in response. “I know I hit him, but that doesn’t mean that I’m not trying to look after him too. Besides, he hit me first.” Red Beard growled, and Mycroft held up his hands in a placating manner. “It’s not an excuse. I’m sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t have slapped him. But when we leave, no one will be around to make sure he stays safe. Do you understand that? It’ll just be you, and you don’t even have opposable thumbs!”

 

Scandalized by the accusation, Red Beard barked at him. “It’s no use complaining. The only thing you can do is call someone for help. What if no one’s around? What’ll you do then?” Red Beard’s head tilted to the left, then the right, as though considering his options. He stood up and walked towards the front door, and scrambled at the edge with his paws. When that didn’t work, he looked over his shoulder at Mycroft and whined. “You see? Useless.” Barking at him once more, Red Beard jumped up onto his hind legs and propped the door handle down with his front paws. They hooked over the handle and he stumbled backwards, dragging the door with him.

 

It opened up, and Mycroft’s mouth fell open as Red Beard squeezed past the legs of the doorman and barked twice on the porch. Passerbys on the street turned to look at the dog who returned his attention to Mycroft. His head tilted to the side in a clear _what do you think of me now,_ gesture that ended with Mycroft blinking at him in stunned amazement.

 

“You can stay.” He decided. “Now get inside before you’re locked out.” Red Beard gave him another look, unimpressed by Mycroft’s opinion as he nuzzled the doorman affectionately and trotted back into the foyer. “But you’ll look after him then?” Mycroft asked, just to be sure. Red Beard barked again and then hurried over towards the kitchen door where he curled in a ball and waited for his young master to come and collect him. “Good boy.” Mycroft told him softly.

 

He needed to ask Kent where he got Red Beard from, because clearly the dog portrayed higher than average intelligence that might need to be explored in the future. Until then, however, Mycroft was eager to return to his job search. At least he knew that Red Beard wasn’t a complete idiot. That was slightly better than having no one around to look after his brother, after all. It didn’t change the fact that there were countless homes in London that refused access simply by virtue of a pet being involved. He was still a complication, but at least he wasn’t as bad of a complication as he _could_ have been.

 

The search was taking far too long, though. Mycroft struggled to balance wages and lodging and when one seemed like a viable option the other always fell through. “You’re rubbish at cleaning floors, Mycroft.” Kent told him one evening after what seemed like an endless struggle. He’d been searching for nearly three months. “Try bookkeeping. You have the attention to detail for it.”

 

“Bookkeeping?” Mycroft repeated, the word tasted vile on his tongue. He hated the thought of it.

 

“Hmm…or better yet, take your A-Levels.”

 

“My what?” Kent snorted in a rather undignified manner.

 

“Your A-Levels. It’s the worlds standard of deciding if you actually know a damn thing. Mostly it’s useless, but since you’ve never gone to school and are all self-taught it’ll give you something to prove you know what you’re talking about. You could go to University, get a degree, and become one of the masses.” It sounded awful.

 

“I won’t get paid for going to school. How’ll I look after Will?”

 

“I already told you that you could stay here. I’m not kicking either of you out.” Kent told him wearily, waving his hand through the air like it meant something.

 

“You wanted me to be your apprentice before. I’m not now.”

 

“That’s your decision. You’re entitled to it. I’m still not kicking you out. If you leave, it’s your choice.”

 

“What about my parents?”

 

“What about them?”

 

“Do they know we’re here?” Kent hesitated for a moment before responding.

 

“I called them a week after you moved in.” He admitted, moving to sit down at his desk. He steepled his fingers under his chin and regarded Mycroft with a calculating eye. “I send them regular reports, informing them on how you’re doing and what you’re working on. They know everything.”

 

“Why would you _do_ that?” Mycroft hissed, anger coursing through him. His hands clenched at his sides and he imagined walking to William and whispering _careen_ in his ear, rushing from the door and never coming back. He felt betrayed. It was an awful feeling that made no sense. He owned no loyalty to Kent, and he owed no loyalty in return. There was no _reason_ for him not to have told their parents. It had never been a stipulation in their agreement, and Mycroft felt like a fool for not realizing it sooner.

 

“Because they’re your parents, Mycroft Holmes. They were frantic and sick with worry for you. I told you before: your mother was a friend.” Kent snapped in turn, dropping his hands into his lap.

 

“Why haven’t they come up then, if they knew?”

 

“Because I asked them not to. I told them why you left, and we’ve spoken quite frequently about you and your brother’s futures. They’ve been active partners in everything that’s happened in this house, and they agreed that after everything that happened while you were younger: perhaps their home wasn’t the best place for you. Since you both were comfortable here, and were safe here, they were willing to try this option instead. See? You have shelter. You have guidance. You have a growing brother who isn’t frightened of shadows. You were allowed freedom from your parents, and you were allowed to grow in every way you wanted. I fail to see how the knowledge that your parents allowed this impacts you in any way.”

 

“It’s…it’s because…it’s-” Mycroft fumbled for words, struggling to work out exactly what he wanted and how to put it into context.

 

“It’s because your one act of rebellion wasn’t so much a rebellion as a carefully navigated course set aside for you. Manipulation once again. You’re not fond of the feeling, and yet you excel at doing it to others.”

 

“That’s not fair.” Mycroft said, shaking his head in an effort to refute his words.

 

“Isn’t it?” Kent leaned forwards and looked at him shrewdly.

 

“No.”

 

“You have a gift, Mycroft. You’re exceptionally talented. You have a lot to be proud of. What you shouldn’t fear is using that gift.” 

 

Mycroft shook his head again and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. It was wrong. Everything about this was wrong. His heart pounded frantically in his head and he wished he could tear the sound of blood pumping straight from the fabrics of reality. He never wanted to hear it again. White noise shuttered through his ears and he could feel panic rising up from within him.

 

All the while Kent sat watching and waiting, unperturbed by his reaction and making no move to interfere or halt the terror that had started to shape itself in his heart. Mycroft wasn’t sure if he should be grateful or mortified, but the numbness that grew and clawed at his limbs only intensified. He _hated_ more than he ever had in his life, but the feeling was blocked and walled off, for he didn’t know what he truly felt hatred _towards._ He wasn’t sure what it was that he was trying to fight against, and the more he stood there in shock the more he realized that he likely had never come to terms with anything.

 

A tidal wave of emotion coursed through him and he wished he knew what he was meant to say in the face of such atrocities. He felt off balance and uncertain, and he longed to know where William was at that _exact_ moment because he needed to focus on something. William was always a fixed point in his life, he had to protect him and keep him safe and everything else could be shoved into the background so long as William was alive and well.

 

Except he didn’t know where William was at every minute of the day anymore. In fact, there had been whole days where he hadn’t even thought of his brother. They’d grown a part and he’d hated it, and they’d fought and everything fell to pieces. He’d lost his focal point, and his compass no longer pointed north.

 

He didn’t know what he wanted to do with his life. He didn’t know what he was meant to do with the genius he’d been gifted with. All he knew was that every time he tried to create something good and pure – it turned out that he was still marching to the beat of someone else’s drum. He was a pawn in a game he’d thought he’d ruled already, and he lost his footing in the midst of this battlefield.

 

“Sherrinford did.” The words were yanked from his mouth, and he refused to look up to see what Kent’s reaction to it was. He kept talking, mouth on autopilot. Even though he attempted to stop, the brain no longer was working in conjunction to his voice. Everything was spewing out of him and he could feel tears starting to well up in his eyes. Always the echoing condemnation of his failure prodded him forwards: _you’re too immature to deal with kidnappings and assassinations if you’re going to panic over something like this._ “Sherrinford manipulated people all the time. He lied and he cheated and he stole. He threatened and he killed. No one ever stopped him, and no one ever will. They’ll release him into the world and he’ll do it all over again, and we’ll never be free of him because he’ll always be _there_.”

 

Kent’s chair slid back from behind the desk. His feet moved towards the side table and his decanter clinked as he served himself a drink. Then, he walked towards Mycroft, ripped his hands from his eyes and shoved the drink into his trembling grasp. He guided Mycroft towards the couch and pushed him onto it with a gentle but firm motion.

 

“Listen to me.” Kent told him, voice so stern it could have broken through anything. He was like water, firm and persistent –willing to wait as long as it took until all defenses were eroded away and only through his tenacity did he succeed. Mycroft listened. “The night your brother was taken from your home, there were police who escorted him away. You were there; you watched the whole thing. You saw, but you didn’t observe. Your mother used to work for us. When she realized what her son had become, she didn’t call the _police_ ; she called _us_. I told you that it wasn’t our responsibility to get involved in every little matter: that’s the truth. I told you that he would eventually be released: that’s also the truth. You know that he’s currently in an institution and that he’s writing letters to your family as part of his therapy. All of that is true. What you haven’t been told, or what you haven’t yet realized for yourself, is that Sherrinford is firmly on our watch-list. He is monitored twenty-four seven by _our_ people. If he breathes one breath out of line he will be eliminated.”

 

Mycroft’s mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. Everything around him faded into nothingness until it was only Kent sitting in front of him. It was only Kent who looked at him with firm reasoning and steadfast determination. It was only Kent who made sense, and could fix the terror in his heart.

 

“Psychopaths cannot be cured. They will be like that until the end of their days. However, they can be managed. They can be adjusted and changed so that they put their proclivities to good use. There are people in this world who have seen what psychopaths can do and who know what they need…how to make them dance. I’m one of them. You are as well.”

 

“I never made Sherry dance. I ran from him. I ran _away_. I took William out of his home and dragged him to London just because of the _idea_ of Sherry coming back. Mere words from him on a harmless piece of paper, influencing our parents, were enough to drag a _baby_ away from his home! Will could have been killed. He could have been injured. He-he- _I_ did that just to keep him away from him!”

 

“You took your brother and you removed him from a hostile environment because the risks outweighed the gain.” Kent retorted calmly. “When you lived with Sherrinford you managed the situation perfectly fine all on your own. It was only when William became incapable of handling the situation did you step in. Correct?”

 

“What- _no_ , I don’t know-”

 

“Seven years, Mycroft. You had seven years before William came around, and you were never touched, bothered, nor harmed in that time.”

 

“It’s not his fault. It’s not his fault!”

 

“I didn’t say it was.” Kent said; voice as collected as it had ever been. It didn’t rise once. It stayed perfectly level. Not one inflection.  “William doesn’t know how to handle psychopaths. He doesn’t have that natural inclination, or he never needed to learn how to work with them. You were always there protecting him, guiding him, keeping him from harm. He grew to respect you, and have no understanding whatsoever on the darker aspects of life.”

 

“So it’s _my_ fault?”

 

“No. It’s not.” Kent replied, ignoring the hysteria that was still growing in Mycroft’s words. “The night that Sherrinford poisoned you, what happened?”

 

“I-” Everything came to a screeching halt. Mycroft remembered. The present day froze like a perfect tableau, and in his mind he could see each word and action take form and shape. He could see William on the counter reading books that weren’t his. He could see William antagonizing Sherrinford as he spoke off the cuff. He could see Sherrinford growing progressively agitated until – bedtime. William vomiting and sobbing as they went to the hospital. Then afterwards…every little instance where William had pushed that extra little bit and was immediately burned for it. It all became so clear.

 

“You made a choice to tell your parents about Sherrinford. You did it because you couldn’t manage the problem any longer. You couldn’t ensure the safety of your little brother in the face of your older brother’s psychopathy. It was _not_ your fault, and you did _not_ fail in your responsibility. William was the stressor, William should never have been expected to change or leave, Sherrinford had to go. When you realized Sherrinford was still actively working to cause your brother harm, and that there was a possibility for him to come, you left. You didn’t run away. It was-”

 

“A tactical retreat.” Mycroft muttered the familiar phrase under his breath and Kent nodded curtly.

 

“You know how to manage psychopaths, Mycroft. Do not sell yourself short.” Mycroft took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. He ran a hand through his hair.

 

“What do you do with them? People like Sherry?”

 

“We give them something to kill, and they do it for us. We allow them out in the world and we give them the opportunity to commit violence and manipulation in a way that assists the greater good.”

 

“Spies and assassins.” Mycroft murmured. Kent smiled humorlessly.

 

“Obviously not all of them, but yes. There are quite a few spies and assassins in our employ that fall into that purview.”

 

“You want Sherrinford to be one of your…double oh’s?”

 

“Not as of yet.” Kent refuted, shaking his head. “However, it’s an option on the table. Better the enemy you know.”

 

“Is that why you wanted me? Because I can manage the psychopaths?” He looked down on the drink he was holding and he grimaced as he remembered the taste of it. Deciding that he was already in for a pound, he knocked it back with a gasp and a grimace.

 

“I wanted you because you showed promise in many areas. Your intellect and reasoning are foremost, your management of certain unsavory individuals came in as a charming addition to your CV. You have the ability to monitor the situation, and keep this world in check. You’re better at it than I am, and I’ve been doing it for over forty years. You’re clever, you’re observant, and you’re able to see connections that most wouldn’t. By the time you’re thirty you’ll have the country under your thumb, and by forty- the world. I don’t doubt your ability nor your ambition. You’re on a very different watch list than your brother. Where we fear what he might one day become, we hope that you might decide to join us still.”

 

“What about Will?” It always came back to that. This argument was circular and never ending. There was likely neither beginning, nor end to this discussion, merely the middle that was constantly spun around and around in a Mobius strip of infinity.

 

“He’s your pressure point, Mycroft. You lost control of Sherrinford because William needed to be protected. You ran away because William needed to be kept safe. You’re thinking about leaving now because William might be in danger.”

 

“What happens if I send him home?”

 

“He lives with your parents. He goes to school. He passes his A-levels and attends University. He makes a life for himself. He’s forced to stand on his own feet and do it on his own merit.”

 

“What happens if he stays?”

 

“He stays with you. He might do his A-levels. He might attend University. He might still make a life for himself, but he’s wholly dependent on you. He won’t know how to manage, because he doesn’t manage now. Instead, he looks to you for guidance and he does whatever you ask of him. He’ll never learn to take care of himself because he’s always relied on you to do it for him. He’ll never grow up.”

 

“It’s dangerous here.” Mycroft whispered, rubbing the glass between his hands.

 

“It’s dangerous there too.” Kent told him. “He’ll be bullied. He’ll get into fights. He’ll likely fall out of a tree at some point and break his arm. He’ll fail. He’ll get sick. He’ll meet someone and have his heart broken. He’ll find disappointment and he’ll find tragedy. But he’s not the puppet master or man behind the curtain. He’s the politician who goes out and gets noticed and does grand things and everyone takes him for granted. He’s the one the papers will follow because he’s done something fantastic and they’ll be enamored with him. He’s going to be brilliant. For all the horrors and tragedies he’s seen and has yet to face: he’s going to be unstoppable.”

 

“How long?” Mycroft asked, closing his eyes and drawing a deep breath in.

 

“Hmm?” 

 

“How long until I have to send him away?”

 

“Is that what you want, Mycroft? The road set before you doesn’t have to be the one you take. You _can_ go home. You do not have to follow this path.”

 

“That’s the thing, though, isn’t it?” Mycroft laughed softly under his breath. He ran a hand over his eyes and he bit his lip. “I _liked_ it. The job. The work. Doing what we did…I _liked_ it. I liked everything about it. I was good at it. And…and he doesn’t have a place in that world, does he?” Mycroft asked Kent.

 

“No. Not in that world. He wouldn’t fit in there at all. With his love for adventure he could be a field agent in his own right, but he’d never do well behind a desk. He would never do well acting as an overseer to the world.”

 

“So, how long until he needs to go?” Mycroft asked again.

 

“I can start your training now. There are several individuals that you’ll be meeting with, you’re going to disappear from all public records the moment you embark down this road. I won’t be the only one training you. Life expectancy in this job isn’t high. It’s a miracle I’ve lasted this long as it is. Should anything happen to me, one of the others will take over. The same goes for them. There’s a long line of heirs and replacements that have come and gone over the years.”

 

“I’m not your first, then?”

 

“My replacements have all been killed.” Mycroft flinched. “You’re it.”

 

“That still doesn’t tell me how long I have.”

 

“How do you want William to leave? Do you want to keep in contact with him? Do you want to sever all ties completely?” It was obvious which one Kent thought to be the wiser choice. He had told Mycroft months ago that he never spoke to his own family. But as obvious as Kent’s choice was to him, Mycroft knew his choice would be just as obvious.

 

“I don’t want to lose him entirely.” He told the man.

 

“Invite your parents up to London. Reintroduce William to them. Have him chose to go home with them. It will soften the blow of your departure.”

 

“He’d never just go with them-”

 

“Your new job requires you to be able to manipulate not just psychopaths, but the standard idiots as well. He’s eight. I’m sure you can think of something. Your brother is the first politician you’ll have to control. Good luck.” Kent reached out and squeezed his shoulder.

 

Somewhere in the house, Red Beard started barking and Mycroft could hear his brother’s laugh echo through the halls.

 

“Just a few more days.” Mycroft murmured. “I’ll send him home. I just need a few more days.” Kent nodded. He never had, and he never would force Mycroft to choose. It was always his choice.

 

Years from now, Mycroft would look back and regret that he hadn’t made the right one.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on Tumblr: http://falcon-fox-and-coyote.tumblr.com


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